


Sky's On Fire

by Tasha Y (ProwlingThunder)



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [165]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Musings on the Sky, Photo Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/Tasha%20Y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt!Fic.</p><p>The sun lit the roof of the world on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sky's On Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EgoDominusTuus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/gifts).



> For full details, visit [Ego's Blog](https://authoramandamccormick.wordpress.com/2016/06/19/weekly-writing-prompt-61916-62516/) or [my own blog](https://prowlingthunder.wordpress.com/2016/06/26/weekly-writing-prompt-response-619-625/), the second of which will permit you to find the picture prompt.

The sky was on fire.

Not literally, he didn't think. Or at least he hoped it wasn't literally. The sky actually being on fire would be bad for everybody. Fire ate oxygen, after all, and human beings did rather require that to continue to breathe.

But the sky _looked_ like it was on fire. The sun glowed a beautiful, brilliant yellow-white in the distance, hung low in the sky like the moon, and the ozone layer bent the light to set the blanket above them from blue to molten gold. Wispy clouds clung to the roof of the world, painting tongues of flame and smoke in bold brush-strokes. It stretched on and on forever.

Sunrises were different than sunsets; knives of light breaking into the world. And not all sunsets were as breath-taking as this one was. Not that.. sunsets in general weren't very pretty. He loved it when the world was covered in blankets of purples and reds and blues.

But he liked nights like this the best. Huddled around a warm fire while another burned in the sky, sinking lower but projecting the ever-welcome promise of warmth. In the winter, when the fields were gone and the world was barren, there was no vegetation to break it up. He'd seen the ground covered in dying light, dull browns and grays turned to riches as the sun's rays struck off them. Stone lost heat quickly, but for a few precious minutes after the sun went down, he could perch on them and soak up the last brushes of warmth.

The moon was a pale sister of the sun, but it was cold, remote and distant no matter how closely it tried to touch the ground, and it could never give to him or to the world what the sun gave them.

But it lit the way like a distant lantern, so that the sun always knew where it was to come.

The moon was a promise. It wasn't the moon's fault that it was the sun it was promising for. That was just kind of the way the world worked.

Besides. It was really the sky he liked best.

 


End file.
